


Snapshots from Grimmauld Place

by DarthKrande



Series: Azkaban AU [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-20
Updated: 2017-02-13
Packaged: 2018-09-18 19:52:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9400634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarthKrande/pseuds/DarthKrande
Summary: Sirius has been moved under house arrest after Pettigrew's survival had been discovered. Now he has a dementor to take care of, a journalist to handle, and twelve years to catch up with.





	1. Chapter 1

The ancient, abandoned house felt just a bit less hostile than any time before. It was dusty, and the furniture had been vandalized as if the house-elf had spent his free time throwing something indestructible against them. The air was thick, as the windows had not been opened for a decade. 

Sirius looked around in the house that he hated, but where nothing bad could be done to him anymore. The silence was welcoming. The paintings on the walls showed empty landscapes and abandoned rooms, without any portraits peeking out at him. This was the first sign that someone else was living here.

“Daire?”

On all four, Sirius sprinted upstairs, following an icy current. His sensitive dog-ears picked up a familiar rattling breath, and the noise led him to his own room’s door. A mixture of disbelieving relief and puzzled caution greeted him as he entered.

On his own bed, barely a yard from the secret hatch to the muggle world, Sirius found a large pile of dark cloak. When the animagus took back his human form, the icy pile rose, so that his hood was almost at the same level as the wizard’s head. 

“I see you’re doing better.”

A silent question was breathed into the air instead of an answer.

“Of course, you can stay as long as you need to!” Sirius replied softly. “Maybe not in my bed, but… All right, my bed, I’m not making amends!” The wizard laughed. “My home is your home, and that’s final. I’m glad you’re doing better.”

With that, the wizard turned around, and went to check on the travel trunk of his late grandfather. To his surprise, the seemingly weak, huffing dark cloth rose ten feet high from the bed, and shyly asked if he could follow him. 

“You, social creature! You want me as food or as company?”

Daire didn’t reply. He of course wouldn’t take more joy than what the wizard was willing to share.

Sirius found out almost immediately that he had made the right choice: to get into the room with the spare wands, one would first need a wand to open the locked door. Daire, however, opened the lock with a handwave. No magic could rival centuries of experience. 

They entered the room. The dementor immediately got sidetracked by a collection of magical items, while Sirius headed straight to the travel trunk. He turned to dog form to bite his own dog-paw, then rose back to human form, and touched his still-bleeding finger to the lid of the trunk. The blood sacrifice didn’t stop him from talking.

“Everything in here belonged to Great-Grandpa Cygnus,” he explained to Daire. “When he travelled to the US, he had to get his wand registered, which was a horribly bureaucratic process. He sent the MACUSA the application forms for no less than three wands he had bought just for the purpose. Then, of course, all his stay he was using the fourth one. So!” Sirius looked up from the trunk victoriously. “I have three wands here to choose from.”

First, he took an aspen wand with unicorn hair. It was reassuring to the touch: the first wand he could hold in twelve years. But he felt something missing, maybe not from the wand, but from his own self. Perhaps it was a memory related to it: as Sirius remembered, he had learnt some spells from his great-grandfather well before school age. 

“You  can’t give happy memories back, can you?” the wizard suddenly asked. “I know… It was worth a try.”

He put the aspen wand back to the trunk, and tried a long mahogany piece, but he placed it back almost immediately. It reminded him too much of James Potter.

The third one was sycamore with dragon heartstring. He couldn’t quite say what was wrong with it, until Daire had called it ‘unedible’. In that long wait, packed away in the travel trunk, the wand had lost its interest in magic. The other word describing it would have been ‘dead’.

With so few to choose from, Sirius picked the aspen wand. Then, after little hesitation, he also took the useless sycamore piece. He set it alight with the aspen, and threw it into the cold fireplace. The dry wood caught fire immediately.

“To the memory of all adventures that will never happen,” he said, staring into the warm colors of the rising flames. The aspen wand felt to be hesitating in his hand, unsure if they could work well together on the long run.

Daire stayed upstairs. Sirius, however, decided he would stay in the main room, and open all the windows in his reach.

“Alohomora!”

He had waited twelve years to use that spell again.

The orange flames danced beckoning in the fireplace with the September night winds freeing the abandoned house from the decades-old sick air. Then, all of a sudden, they changed green, indicating that someone was approaching. Sirius hoped it would be Moony: there was so much to be discussed, and even more to be thanked for.

To little surprise, Remus Lupin was only the second wizard to visit him. The first was Albus Dumbledore.

“Good evening, professor,” Sirius greeted the aged headmaster as he stepped out of the fireplace. “Sorry I  can’t  invite you for dinner, but it took me the entire afternoon to convince the aurors I’d need an owl if they want me to do my shopping by mail order. I have excellent brandy, if you want, from my grandfather’s collection...”

“Thank you, Sirius. I heard you’re doing better than expected, but your inner strength has always been peculiar,” the old wizard smiled. “I’d heard you already made progress  **_before_ ** your release.”

“What exactly do you know about that?” Sirius asked while casting a Tergeo charm on two glasses. He didn’t expect a complete answer, but Dumbledore’s half-truths had always been entertaining. 

“Remus told me you have somehow gained the dementors’ trust and have been roaming Scotland with them.” Dumbledore seemed to be searching the convict’s mind for details, because dementors trusting their prisoners was about as rare as a broom-riding muggle. However, Sirius was certain the headmaster wouldn’t  find anything, as he hadn’t gained anyone’s trust; rather, the dementors had gained his. But why had a supposed mass murderer, a partly-sane werewolf, and three dementors ended up hunting an unregistered animagus on the seventh floor of the left wing during classes in Hogwarts? Just because somebody had to…? 

“If I talk  too much about that, it would mean someone can’t keep secrets. Again,” Black reminded him in a bitter tone. 

The professor nodded. “Then let me continue with an even more interesting moment. In September, those monsters with you found the diadem of Rowena Ravenclaw, and…”

The headmaster’s face turned sorrowful. This was the point where half-truths and jokingly belittling the gravity of a situation couldn’t help. Sirius decided to finish the sentence for Dumbledore.

“Kissed something akin to a soul out of it. Is that all that Remus has told you?”

“Yes, and…” Again, Dumbledore paused. This wasn’t like him. He looked as if a bad memory had flown through his mind, too quickly for him to notice, but deeply enough to leave an impression. 

Sadness appeared on the old face behind the long white beard and the half-moon spectacles.

“He told me that you swapped roles twelve years ago, to throw Voldemort off your tracks. I wish I had known that detail.”

“We were living in a war where trust is the scarcest thing, and the most dangerous,” Sirius pointed out as he filled the two glasses. He greatly appreciated Daire’s precision with which he’d brought that memory to the great wizard without giving away his own presence. The windows were open, letting fresh air in for the first time in over a decade, so coldness could be blamed on the evening wind anytime, but the sudden reappearance of long-forgotten memories just couldn’t have been explained. 

The last thing Sirius needed was for the great wizard to find a wounded dementor in the heart of London. He hastily changed the topic.

“So, that jewel was Ravenclaw’s famous diadem indeed…”

Dumbledore nodded. “I had it checked for authenticity. Oddly, we couldn’t find any other wizard’s traces on it – I suppose it was sucked out completely.”

“You don’t seem too relieved,” Sirius commented. Was the old wizard concerned with the fate of his nemesis? Did he worry about the soul fragment We-Know-Who had cut apart for himself? So this was why this visit was so urgent. At least, Sirius told himself, Dumbledore didn’t come to fake an apology. He was too focused on his own problem.

“I remember Voldemort attempting to steal the sword of Gryffindor,” the headmaster continued, “and I heard he did succeed in acquiring the cup of Helga Hufflepuff. This leads me to think he wanted to infest an object from each Hogwarts founder.”

“Beyond me to understand why,” Sirius sighed, and downed his drink.

“Because he was unable to see the dangers in doing so.”

“That’s not a motive,” Sirius pointed out. “Why would anyone consider leaving their own soul around? Except, of course, if he didn’t intend to.”

“Which, I fear, might have happened at a point,” Dumbledore injected. “But it clearly wasn’t the case with the diadem.”

Something quite unusual flew into the room through the open window. A small black owl, with satisfied hooting, dropped a pizza box on the table.

Sirius opened the package hungrily. “Where would we be without squibs?” he smiled, “Real food!”, and offered a slice of salami to the tiny owl. The bird observed the item suspiciously, then accepted it out of politeness. “Professor?”

“Thank you, Sirius, my own dinner is waiting for me at Hogwarts. I just wanted to make sure you’re all right .”

“I just have severe trust issues,” Sirius admitted. Right now, he couldn’t imagine that he would ever follow this man again. After all that fighting in the name of the Order of the Phoenix, its leader’s only apology had been squeezed out of him by Daire. “Professor, thank you for coming. Would you please do me a favour?”

“Anything.”

“Tell Snape that I’m out of Azkaban. If he has the guts to abuse either my godson or the Longbottom orphan, he is messing with me.”

The elder wizard shook his head. “So it’s on again? Severus already offered to make a bet with anyone that you’d be back in Azkaban within a year.”

“It’s not me who would fit into the deatheater collection hoarded there, professor.”

The headmaster looked the younger man straight in the eye. Sirius, who had been among eyeless creatures for over a decade, couldn’t bear his piercing gaze for long.

“Severus Snape is an adult wizard now, Sirius Black, and so are you. And remember: the night you lost your friend James Potter, he lost his love Lily Evans.”

After the headmaster left, Sirius dropped on the widest sofa, with the full pizza box in his left hand. The tiny owl settled on his right shoulder, looking longingly into the pizza box, and when Sirius lifted the first slice to his mouth, the bird hooted excitedly.

“So, it took one bit of salami, and you gave up that conservative diet of yours?” Sirius laughed, as the owl jumped to his right hand, and took a second salami into his tiny beak. “All right, just leave some for me, too. Do you have a name? My brother had an owl just like you, and she was called Eyeball. Sadly, now, Eyeball is a girl’s name, and you’re a boy. Male. Whatever. Is there a delivery service I could name you after?”

The owl blinked up, then flew away with a third piece of salami. “All right, then. How about something fast and manlike? Daimler? Bentley?” The bird didn’t seem to approve the ideas he came up with. “Royal Enfield? Triumph?”

The owl turned his back at the wizard.

“Oh, come on!”

The owl suddenly hooted in panic. He must have felt something that Sirius didn’t notice, or rather, what he already got used to. Daire was floating down the stairs, careful not to hit an object he could not perceive. He bent over, and soon collapsed into the armchair Albus Dumbledore had occupied previously. The sight of his wounded keeper immediately drove the wizard’s mind from shiny muggle vehicles.

Daire’s breathing was still  rather quiet instead of the rattling sound that was normal for his species. The air around him was icy, but moved gently like a breeze. The flames in the fireplace didn’t go out, only flickered, and this gave away the lack of his former strength. The cinder was glowing like dusk. But the stab-wound wasn’t visible anymore, and the dementor’s aura reflected Sirius’ own hope and happiness.

“I was wondering if you could give the owl a name he might like,” Sirius said. “I know you can talk.”

But he didn’t want to, the dementor breathed. He preferred being safe with the ability instead of growing too accustomed to it, and making a mistake. He had been communicating quite comfortably with those who would pay attention, and he always trusted those mightier than him to handle the aurors. He asked Sirius to respect his point, and never to bring up vocal talking again.

“All right,” Sirius said, picking up his dinner again. The formerly hot pasta was now covered in a layer of frost. With a smug smile, Sirius pointed the aspen wand at it, and warmed his dinner with an effortless spell. 

He blinked at the shadow-like creature in the armchair, and continued eating. His own meal was the crisp round pasta with tasty, nutritious tomato sauce, Daire’s was all his joy over it. There was something reassuringly familiar, yet festively ceremonial in this arrangement. It had been how they had survived in Azkaban. Together.

“I always loved muggle food,” the wizard said, ten minutes later, when he was done with the entire pizza. By then, the little owl had retreated to the kitchen, and settled on the top of the cupboard.

Before long Remus Lupin stepped out of the fireplace, then immediately retreated as the first thing he saw was a bulky, eleven feet high dementor raising from the armchair.

“SIRIUS!”

“Hi, Moony!” The animagus jumped up right behind the non-being. “Thank you so much for exposing Peter! You’re the best... Daire, would you please let Remus out of the fireplace? I’m allowed to have visitors, if you wouldn’t remember.”

Meanwhile, Remus Lupin’s wand was already out, although at the tip he was holding a small ball of fire, nothing silvery like a half-conjured patronus. Still, Sirius didn’t want the situation to escalate.

Daire backed away, more disappointed than hostile. Remus appeared more hostile than disappointed.

“What’s the matter with you both? You were formally introduced two weeks ago! Daire, this is Remus Lupin, my best friend alive. Moony, this is Daire, my support for the past twelve years, currently in recovery after he was stabbed by Peter in an attempt to clear me. Sit down, both of you!”

To both wizards’ relief, the large cloaked figure (or more like, the large cloak, as if it were empty) collapsed on a sofa by the room’s far side. Daire let out one last unhappy sigh, and fell silent.

“You caught him unaware,” Sirius apologized. “Dementors don’t like being observed, to start with, and he’s not yet in top form.”

His friend, currently not a werewolf, looked at him from head to toe.“Dumbledore was wrong, you DO have some problem right up here,” Remus finally stated. “But maybe it’s from before.” 

The next moment, they warmly patted each other’s back, then the newcomer’s gaze fell on Daire again. “Does the Wizengamot know you took a tiny little souvenir from Azkaban? Of course, they don’t, no need to tell. Do you have any idea what they’ve all been  through because of you in the past two days?” He sat down and continued. “Immediately after Buckbeak’s one-man show, aurors flooded Hogsmeade to gather evidence. Then Fudge came and ordered every witness to be obliviated before Peter’s survival could get out and he’d have to publicly admit to being an incompetent git. The obliviation of the entire village went, of course, as smoothly as you can imagine. And, while this kept the Ministry busy, Mrs. Pippin, you know, the potions-maker, sent the photo to the Witch Weekly. Straight into the hands of Rita Skeeter!” Moony’s shy smile was echoed by Daire’s equivalent of a thumbs-up, of which Remus only perceived that he wasn’t being exposed to his own nightmares. Black could have translated it into a lengthy praise. Lupin continued. 

“You know the rest of the story. Witch Weekly came out with the special issue yesterday, and I swear on Merlin, the reactions exceeded my wildest dreams. The Ministry was forced to call a full retreat. Rosmerta gathered the villagers and the obliviators together, and for five hundred galleons per head, they agreed the obliviation ordeal never happened. I wouldn’t like to be in Fudge’s shoes today, Padfoot.”

Sirius just grinned first, then burst out laughing. Obliviators were trained to alter the memories of harmless muggles, of course they failed against an entire wizarding village. What hit Cornelius Fudge in the head to think they should even try? Apart from a paranoia-level attachment to his power, of course.

“I haven’t seen the Witch Weekly extra,” he admitted. With a self-satisfied smile, Remus handed a copy over to him. Sirius put it aside for later reading. Remus was more important to him – the only true friend he had among the wizards.

“Moony, I would be so lost without you.”

“Don’t mention it, Padfoot. It was you who decided to learn to be animagus for me. Besides, I had help from Albus. And that cat who drove Peter out from the dormitory. And, of course, Buckbeak. Guess what, no less than five hippogriff owners have booked him for their breeding mares - I’d say his calendar is full for this year. He’s the only one in the story who enjoys being the poster boy.”

Sirius could imagine.

“And do you have any idea where Wormtail might be hiding?”

Lupin nodded. “He’s in the Shrieking Shack, presumably surviving on the food we stocked up in seventh year. Without a wand, he can’t break the reinforced spells on it, and I caved the passage. But we will only have one chance to catch him. Once we go in, he will also be able to come out. And I don’t want Ministry aurors to get involved in hunting an animagus. Snatchers, even less.”

Daire took a loud, rattling breath, the first one since Remus Lupin’s arrival.

“You stay put and heal!” Sirius snapped. He went closer to the dark creature, and continued in a lot milder tone. “I understand you want to help, but I’m not taking chances. I will make sure you get the last laugh out of Pettigrew, I promise.” He put a calming hand on the black cloak right above the wound, and the dementor leaned into the touch. “You or Vaqqu, I leave that to you. Peter betrayed us enough that I don’t care what you do to him. Just don’t get yourself killed for me.”

“The Ministry went ridiculously crazy over your case, they even dug out some muggle regulation for this house arrest, just to get you out of Azkaban. And here you are, cuddling with a dementor,” Lupin remarked.

“The werewolf speaks.” Sirius turned back to his guest, with a wide smile on his pale face.

“Now what’s  **_your_ ** problem with me being a werewolf?” Lupin protested. “I’m at least still classified as a being!”

In reply, Daire breathed on him. Not hard, not in search of memories, not even to take too much of his joy. But it was a very clear threat that he could do any of those.

“Enough, you both!” Sirius shouted as he stepped between dementor and wizard. He lifted his temporary wand, although he could not think of any spell that would be effective against both guests, if they really meant to attack each other.

Daire straightened up as much as he could, and slowly floated towards the open window. There was no body language to read, but to Sirius, he still seemed insulted.

“Don’t go,” his host pleaded with him. “Just behave. Moony, please, the same applies to you. Let’s talk about Hogwarts! Has it changed much since we’ve left? I didn’t have time for anything last time. And how’s Harry? When will they play the yearly match against Slytherin? Merlin, I’d love to see him in a match. Or in training. Do you think they would throw out a stray dog if I went to see a Gryffindor practice?”

Remus Lupin scratched his head. “We’ve managed worse.” He took one last glimpse at the other guest, then decided they should leave each other alone. He tried to think positively. What was Sirius asking about…? “Hogwarts is just like it was in our days. The quidditch grounds were restored, and Hagrid has started breeding thestrals. The Forbidden Forest is full of unicorn foals this year.” He tried to remember if they’d met any of those during Sirius’s visit, but his memories were cloudy because he hadn’t been quite himself at the time. “The Weasley twins have our map, I’ve yet to ask how they figured to operate it. Do you think I should tell them it’s from us?”

“Do you want them to ask why you signed it as ‘Moony’?” Sirius asked.

“Then.... Maybe I’ll wait for the opportunity.”


	2. Chapter 2

“Lumos!”

The old wand’s tip flickered, then burst in a blinding light.

“There. Do you like it better than the candles on the chandelier?”

The dementor, repulsed by the fire but unbothered by the wand’s brightness, laid down comfortably on the sofa. His hood fell back, and Sirius could see his pale, expressionless features. The soft skin across his eye sockets rose and fell in the rhythm of his breathing. Whenever he made a rattling sound, those membranes vibrated noticeably, while his chest didn’t move.

“My home is your home,” Sirius assured him, then picked up the Witch Weekly. He could feel Daire’s gratitude even when he was looking the other way. “Do you want me to read it out loud?”

As Moony had said, the special issue predated the Daily Prophet article by an entire day. And it was an even more pleasing read.

Rita Skeeter covered Pettigrew’s appearance in Hogsmeade, complete with interviews from the villagers and insider information from the aurors. Unlike the Prophet’s side-article, this one was quite precise about Crouch sentencing the first accused wizard to Azkaban without as much as a hearing. 

‘We all remember the tragic revelation when the Lestranges were tried after they had tortured aurors Frank and Alice Longbottom to lasting insanity. After his own son was revealed to have also been involved, Barty Crouch Senior got cold feet, and sentenced the next suspect without a hearing.’ That was Rita Skeeter’s version of an obituary, written to the not-so-loving memory of the kissed (but, technically, still alive) Barty Crouch Senior.

Sirius read on. The article had  wonderfully explicit details about what the Lestranges and Crouch Junior had done to the Longbottoms and what Black’s trial could have been like, if Crouch Senior had the courage to hold it. But after ‘the public exposure of his spoiled child’s dirtiest secrets, Crouch wasn’t in the right state of mind to admit that somebody else was innocent, when his own son had been guilty.’

That was an interesting perspective indeed.

On the next page, there was the account of the explosion he had been accused of, and the explanation of Peter’s posthumus third-class Order of Merlin. While she got some details wrong (like, how could have little Peter said that half-page speech in that short time?) it was still more accurate than what the Ministry was willing to admit. Rita Skeeter, of course, wasn’t aware of Pettigrew being an animagus, so she assumed that the wizard had apparated from the scene, with only a finger getting caught in the explosion. The journalist also asked a pyromagician, who claimed that if someone lost a finger in a blast, that usually indicated a clumsy caster, and even the investigating aurors had admitted that Pettigrew was much less talented a wizard than his supposed murderer.

At this point, Sirius decided Rita Skeeter was his favourite writer.

The rest of the article was pretty much what Lupin had already summed up for him: the Ministry was still trying to keep up the image of doing their work properly, while an innocent man was sitting in Azkaban for eleven years, ten months and twenty-eight days. There was no mention of the obliviators, but Skeeter hinted at an oncoming interview with someone who had been ‘cleaning up the dirt after both cases.’ Considering how incredibly effective the witch had been whenever she covered an uncomfortable event, this could have been a real threat.

No surprise that the Ministry panicked.

Sirius looked around to find the time: it was only 7 PM. As if understanding the wizard’s plans, the tiny black owl dropped to the table, quill in his beak, parchment between his talons.

“Maybe I should ask Vaqqu to name you,” the animagus smiled, remembering the time when the frost-hooded dementor had brought him ink and parchment so that he could write his first letter to Lupin. “I didn’t even get to say goodbye to the captain. Not that he’d be overly sentimental about that.”

Daire snorted once, but didn’t put any effort into further discussion. Sirius collected the ink bottle, and started writing.

‘Dear Ms. Skeeter,

I think I owe you an interview. Come to 12, Grimmauld Place, London whenever you find time. My invitation will get you through the spells on the fireplace.

Yours sincerely,

Sirius Black’

Only when he sent the letter did he consider that if Remus’s visit didn’t go well with Daire, then the scandal-loving witch could be an even worse match. He couldn’t allow  his two guests in the same room, he decided. However, Daire just turned onto his side on the sofa, apparently cozy and relaxed. His hood was arranged back on his head. Sirius eventually swapped the entire sofa for one in the other room, a deed which Daire accepted with a grudging snort. He wasn’t used to being relocated by wizards, especially not when he was half asleep.

Sirius looked around in his old-new residence. Everything was in a state of disrepair: not where one would invite a sharp-quilled journalist like Skeeter. Several items were broken or cracked, as if something heavy had hit them.

“Reparo!”

It was so nice to have a wand again, albeit a temporary one that had never chosen to bond with a wizard.

“Accio – dust!”

This took some time, as Sirius had to focus his attention on every dirty surface, one after the other, to clean them. But he had gathered a nice pile which could be now transfigured into a ball of coil, and set on fire. He considered doing the same to the vast tapestry with the family tree. The collection of house-elf heads had to go for certain. Sirius replaced them with tiny replicas of muggle fighter jets that would float above the railings. He was testing flight formations when the cinder burst out in green flames, and a blonde witch in elegant green robes stepped out into the main room. She was holding the invitation in her left hand.

Sirius took in the sight. She slightly resembled a Romanian Longhorn dragon, with that glittering hair and distant, predator-like eyes. Her talons around the letter were long, and painted in red. Sirius immediately decided to treat her accordingly.

“Miss Skeeter, it’s a real pleasure!” he greeted him.

“Mr. Black, I’m so gratef... oh!” She lifted her clawed hand to her mouth in shock. For a moment, Sirius feared she’d spotted Daire, although the dementor was still quietly healing in the other room.

“Yes, milady?”

“I should have brought my photographer along!” Rita Skeeter explained. “Your face is so expressive! Like, a ghost... You must have had some terrible years in Azkaban.”

“Good thing is, it’s over,” Sirius bowed, then hurried down the stairs to greet her. “Thanks to you. When I read your flattering article about me, I decided you’re the worthiest of the first interview I give. It’s a pleasure you accepted my invitation.”

“I was only doing my duty to the wizarding world,” she managed. Her shock was still written on her face. “Sir, would you mind if I use a Quick-Quotes Quill?”

The host expressed some mild annoyance. His growl was less than intentional. “I thought, for the first interview of  _ anyone _ who can give a complete account of Azkaban’s life-sentence rows, I’d be worth verbatim notes. But do as you please.”

The acid-green feather that the journalist took from her bag immediately started taking notes of him being overly sensitive, hurt, and ‘as proud as a sphinx’. She noticed too late that Black was watching her work.

“Make that ‘as proud as a hippogriff’, at least,” Sirius requested. The long green quill immediately crossed the sphinx from the comparison.

“Thank you, miss.”

“No problem,” she said with a displeased tone.

The quill immediately added, ‘as a hippogriff, an animal he is quite fond of.’

“Now, that’s better. I’ve never met Buckbeak in person, but I’d very much like to.”

The quill wrote, ‘BOZO: GET A PHOTO OF BLACK WITH BUCKBEAK!’ The wizard read the notebook again, and gave an approving nod.

“That would be wonderful. See, I’m under house arrest until Pettigrew is found, alive or dead, but after that, I’ll be happy to meet with your photographer.”

“You said, ‘alive or dead.’ Which would be your preference?” Skeeter asked. Her green eyes were blinking menacingly from behind her glasses. “What would be more deserved punishment for the wizard who set you up, and got away with it for twelve years?”

“I would like to witness him receiving the kiss from a dementor.”

“Oh!”

His thirst for justice might have been a little too much for the journalist. Sirius could tell she was stunned for a moment, because her quill wrote down everything, word for word.

“Do you really think anyone deserves that fate?” she asked. “I heard you were friends at school. Both of you were Gryffindors, if I’m not mistaken...”

“We were such good friends, I even let him persuade me to switch so that he would be the secretkeeper for James and Lily. Two days after the swap, it was I who found them, dead.”

He waited for the quill to jot everything down, then checked on the notes, suspiciously. Under his frown, the tall green feather quickly crossed out half of the written text.

“Please, Mr. Black...”

“All right. You can keep that line about milling through that memory every day since. It’s correct. But they were not blasted to pieces, both were killed with the Unforgivable killing curse. James was good enough an auror to block a simpler spell like that. And Lily was great with charms – she could have defended herself, too. The destruction was a mere consequence.”

The quill wrote, ‘Black still strongly defends the memories of Lily and James Potter, and for Harry, he’. The quill stopped mid-sentence, and waited in the air for Sirius to say anything about the child.

“Let’s leave Harry out of this. The only thing you can include about him is that he received his first broom from me as a birthday present, and I’m proud to hear he plays in the Gryffindor quidditch team.”

‘He talks of Harry Potter with the pride only his father would’.

“Now, that’s better. Don’t forget the toy broom.” He didn’t want to sound like a blood-thirsty mass murderer, although he certainly looked like one. He read the notebook again, this time in search of lines describing his appearance. “Here you wrote that I appear at least a decade older than I truly am,” he pointed out as he read the journalist’s first impressions. “I must say, it’s quite a good approximation. Every day I spent in Azkaban must have counted double.” He decided not to comment on ‘being in his house feels like being in the custody of his former guards.’ 

“What was Azkaban like?” she asked. Her quill was already writing his supposed answer. He cleared his throat, and the quill stopped mid-word.

“Worse than the worst days of You-Know-Who,” he replied. “Sorry, scratch that. Write He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.”

“Is there a difference?” Rita Skeeter asked.

“Huge,” Sirius nodded. “His followers, whose insane mumbling I was forced to listen to for over a decade, are still referring to him by the V-name he chose for himself. On Merlin I swear, my cousin has been crying that word ever since her capture! I heard it far too much. But He-Who is the designation given by the press. Let’s go with his press name.”

The woman smiled at the flattery. “Charming.” Sirius nodded. That was his intention.

He continued with Azkaban; gave detailed descriptions of what the dark wizards and witches were going through, what words they were repeating day and night, what sort of memories they were being forced to face. He didn’t need to guess any of it, as he had already blinked into their minds when Daire had first shared his own perception. And whenever his memory failed, he received help from the nearest room.

“Ah. Isn’t it cold in here?” Skeeter suddenly asked.

“Cold?” Sirius blinked. “The company of two thousand dementors, out in the North Sea, in January, now that’s cold. This is a nice autumn evening. Would you like me to close the windows?” he offered gallantly. Meanwhile he really hoped Daire wouldn’t give away his presence, although the dementor had previously promised he wouldn’t be any trouble.

“No, thank you, I’ll just put on a sweater.” The quill wrote half a page about the coldness while she conjured a deep-green cloth around herself.

Sirius Black continued. He talked about who was in Azkaban and why, what deeds they committed, and who had caught them afterwards. As a former auror and member of the Order of the Phoenix, he could also offer quite personal memories of the heroes who were killed in the Days of Darkness by the inmates. Time flew: Skeeter’s notebook was quickly full with his account, and when they were through the two-third of the extra she’d brought with herself, she asked if Black wanted to co-author an entire book dedicated to the hardest criminals.

She should have proposed that to Vaqqu, Sirius thought. 

“I’m just repaying you for your article in the Witch Weekly,” Sirius reminded her. “Let’s just sum it up: Azkaban is the most horrible place in the wizarding world. It has witches like Bellatrix Lestrange.”

“It’s the second time you mention your cousin. Do you consider her as the worst in there?” Skeeter asked.

“Her husband is a close second.”

“And the dementors?” she asked, eager for a second serving of horrors.

“Dementors are who keep the aforementioned monsters away from us.”

“That’s a very interesting point,” she mumbled, disappointed and intrigued at the same time. “If those are not the worst creatures in there, do you have any advice to the peaceful wizarding world about them?”

“The dementors? Yes. Respect them for what they are doing,” Sirius immediately replied. “If you are not pureblood, thank them that they’re keeping you safe. If you are a mother or father, thank them your child won’t be bit by Fenrir Greyback. If there’s an auror in your family, thank them that your relative is still alive.”

The journalist turned a page, wondering what she should ask next.

“It’s getting late, isn’t it,” Sirius hinted. “And I’m sure you want the first part of that printed by tomorrow.”

She nodded, quite reluctantly. The soft light shimmered on her curly blonde hair. Again, her eyes behind her glasses reminded him of a longhorn dragon. A rather dangerous one, that would attack her handler even if he brought the juiciest food to sate her hunger. “You are a goldmine, sir. Thank you,” she said in a very polite tone. She looked around to find the time. It was really getting late.

“You’re welcome. Milady, would you please do me a favour?” Sirius asked, aware that he should never turn his back to the woman. So he decided to occupy her instead. “I read some extraordinary revealing articles from you in the Daily Prophet. I wonder if you would be interested in uncovering some deatheaters who talked themselves out with bribes and blackmail. I give you the names, you give me your word that you’ll take care of yourself. I have been surrounded by their kind for too long, I don’t want to come across them out here.”

In other words, he was inviting her for a task only skilled aurors from the Order of the Phoenix would normally be up to. But that meant little when the Order had scattered, and its leader wasn’t interested in anyone not parseltongue.

The journalist happily accepted the deal. She gave her word to be careful. Sirius gave her the names.

Knowing her talent, Vaqqu would be very happy soon enough. Sirius could focus on getting the rat for him.


	3. Chapter 3

Morning found Sirius curled up in his dog form, with his nose buried under his shaggy tail, and with a dementor floating above his bed. He stood up, stretched his fore legs, then the two hind ones, one after the other. As much as he had plans for the day, everything that had waited twelve years  had to wait five more minutes. As much as he was considered an energetic person, he had yet to settle back to an active daily routine. So after stretching, he curled up again, and watched Daire floating.

The dementor seemed to have healed overnight. Was it because of the company of the wizard, or did that have something to do with the necklace he must have found in the kitchen while Sirius was giving interview? Maybe both, the animagus told himself. Daire, as much as he was airborne like what's natural for non-beings, was still asleep. His outlines were barely visible in the bright sunshine, and of what Sirius could make out, he was levitating with his face towards the floor. His arms were spread out, his left elbow slightly bent.

Padfoot, as quietly as he could manage, jumped on the soft carpet and went to see his former keeper from the other angle.

Sunlight broke on the now-translucent cape, giving away the outlines of the grey, rotten-looking body surface. The dementor’s legs were extremely short, and his feet webbed. There was a tail that almost reached the edge of the cloak, and it was just as bony as any other part of his body. Sirius moved soundlessly under the floating body, observing the skeletal creature’s outlines. The pelvic region looked exactly like an illustration from an old dragon anatomy book, but the ribcage looked almost human. Sirius counted thirteen pairs of ribs, and these were all directly fused to the chest bone. The shoulders and the skull appeared human, too, as if he really was a floating, translucent corpse. The stab wound was visible as a glowing line.

The sunlight flickered in the entire spectrum, basking the eyeless face in a million colors. In this backlight, the thin eye membranes appeared to be shining like opal. And yet Daire still looked like a corpse that was forgotten in water for too long. Sirius didn't mind. A friend was a friend, and werewolves don't look pretty, either.

Sirius, still on all four, sneaked into the bathroom, then turned back to get dressed. He had never been overweight, but his old clothes still looked like they were for a man twice as large as he. Ministry-assigned meal for twelve years does that to a wizard. He took the aspen wand and cast some shrinking charms on his clothes here and there. He decided he would send his owl to Gringotts before breakfast. But when he took a glance at the mirror, and decided he would not only ask for his account statement, but he would get at least a thousand galleon's worth in muggle money. He was sure there was money in the wall between the study and the dining-room, but he would have bet his motorbike he would not find one penny of muggle currency in the entire house.

The still-unnamed black owl returned to him with a tiny package from Rita Skeeter and the note that she wished him a quick recovery. The smells from the magically folded, warm-keeping box were more than encouraging. Sirius wondered if his breakfast was included in the deal between the two of them. Also, the tiny bottle of revitalizing potion might have contained something other than it said on the label.

He only looked up when a goblin stepped out of the fireplace. He was carrying a large suitcase with both hands. "You should have stayed one more year to get top-rate interest," the evil-looking creature told to him without any introduction. "Your loss." With that, he handed over the suitcase, turned around, and threw some floo powder into the fireplace. "Don't forget to buy some powder," were his parting words.

Sirius stared at the empty fireplace, his appetite completely gone. He downed the potion (it tasted like a mixture of tonic and gillywater) and opened the suitcase. He noted the 'Muggle-worthy' switch on it. In muggle mode, it had about thirty thousand British pounds in it. The other way, it was empty, except for a statement sheet and a table of exchange ratios in it.

This was some place to start.

Sirius took the stairs as a dog, then watched as Daire was still levitating in his room, sometimes partly visible, otherwise as only a very cold air current. The roborant potion was kicking in, and Sirius had plans for the morning anyway.

"Aguamenti!"

Water splashed from the aspen wand onto the hooded figure. The dementor spun twice around his longitudinal axis, and continued sleeping.

"It's morning and your blindness is not an excuse! Aguamenti!"

The waking dementor's breath froze the second serving of water to snow, which still hit him on the face. He caused Sirius to remember the time when he first woke in Azkaban, to the cold and to the loneliness.

"Oh Daire, you know I didn't mean it like that," Sirius relented. "You can sleep through the entire day if you want. But first, please tell me if my muggle neighbors are still at home. Please. There must be two families on either side of this building."

Because he was asking politely, the dementor was willing to reply: in the house that’s attic was at the same level as the wizard's upper bathroom, only a few potted plants were detectable. He also confirmed the wizard's suspicion about the additional charms that were meant to keep him in 12, Grimmauld Place, but did not seal the house at the wall he shared with the muggles at either side. But before Sirius could have thanked him the information, he faded back asleep.

His host took one last blink at the barely visible non-being, and diminished the wall between the two houses. Daire was correct: while the aurors had cast powerful repelling charms on the front and the back, they could not put any of those on the muggle homes' walls in such hurry.

Muggle technology had changed a lot since he had last seen any of their gadgets. There was a strange looking box connected to the window-like device (its name had 'vision' in it, if he remembered correctly) and a similar one was wired to the cassette player. He decided to learn how these work, but this was not the time.

"Accio - phone book!"

He expected something the size of a magazine. The thick volume hit him on the head, and it wasn't as gentle as Chesire had been. But then, he could still find what he was looking for, and the phone itself hadn't changed much in his absence. He felt Daire's disapproval for the lie he couldn't avoid, but then, the dementor couldn't have expected him to tell anyone about being an animagus, even if it was only a muggle. In fact, that would have lead to violating far too many points of the International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy.

Daire appeared to be relaxed at the answer. He sincerely hoped Sirius was making progress with his infamously humble skills at following his world's rules. Even if he was escaping his assigned place of house arrest, leaving only his assigned guard in the building.

"I'll be back in a few hours, now, enjoy your beauty sleep!" With a swing of his wand, he restored the wall between 11 and 12, Grimmauld Place. With another swing, he apparated.

When he left, the pocket of his ill-fit trousers was stuffed with muggle money. Five hours later he returned with a much flatter pocket of brand-new jeans, a bag that Daire suspected to have the undetectable expansion charm on it, and his entire body was chamomile scented.

"Do you want to help me figure how this CD-player works?" Sirius greeted his friend. "First, it says, I will need some electrifying charms. Of course not, you idiot! Three-phase alternating current, 75 Watt, 230 Volts, you should really have more faith in my transfiguration skills. Daire, please, stop talking like you didn't understand. Yes, guess what, electricity is not an exception from Gamp's Laws. I thought when you were chewing on my memories, you at least paid some attention!"

With that, he sat down on the table, his face buried in his palm.

"I thought at least you understood me, and after twelve years, it turns out you don't. I'm alone, all alone in this world, belonging nowhere, good for no one..."

Daire breathed on him, and it felt as if he froze tears on the wizard's face.

"I even know I should be thankful to you, and yet I am not. I'm blinded by every little fault I notice. Thank you for bearing with me, even at my worst, Daire."

In the company of the skilled wizard-keeper, Sirius's tantrum finally quieted down to a sob. Daire had handled hysterical magi all his existence, whether or not it could be called a life. He had experience in calming those who had long ago given up on hope and happiness, and like all dementors serving in Azkaban, he had learnt it through trial and error. When the Ministry's aurors first set their feet on the accursed island, its dementor populace had known little more than torture and predation. In the first decade, more prisoners had died than had not, but slowly the dementors had learned to take care of what was theirs, and now life expectancy was only a few years less than that for an ordinary wizard. For example, of the latest dark lord's captured followers, none had yet died in Azkaban.

And he wasn’t too shy to share all this information with his former captive.

"So, you mean I should stop thinking I'm any bit special," Sirius mused. "Just one more hard case for you, one of the many in these three centuries. What praise."

Daire didn't attempt any more comfort, instead, he lifted Sirius with one hand. An average wizard would have panicked at the closeness, but Sirius was used to this form of transport. It was just like they had floated over the North Sea whenever they returned together from the mainland. Or when they had left, to hunt, or simply to share a few hours of freedom.

Sirius didn't say a word until Daire put him down in the dining-room, where his breakfast was still untouched, albeit a little bit cold. The wizard remembered only now that he hadn't eaten it before waking Daire and running away from home like a teenager.

"You are a soul parasite, and you understand me better than I would like to," he finally sighed. "I'm sorry to overthink this. Of course, you're used to even worse people than I am."

Daire couldn't see, but on the wizard's face, there was a smile.

With his stomach full and with his pristine dark hair shining like a starry night, Sirius laid down on the sofa and watched as Daire examined his shopping bag. The dementor’s grey, rotten-looking bony hand touched the shirts’ soft textile, the plastic holders for five CDs, the two pairs of sport shoes. The boxing gloves puzzled him a little, but when he lifted a sandbag out of the enchanted bag, he really felt the need to ask what Sirius was thinking.

“I need to get back in shape, Daire. And no, I won’t put any charms on it until I can send it flying with a roundhouse kick, before you would ask. Though that guy gave a very shady answer when I asked how to fix its holding chain to the ceiling.”

The dementor suggested the chandelier. A few hundred pounds more on it, would that matter to anyone?

“Your sense of humor is greatly underappreciated,” Sirius remarked. He would have bet he’d seen Daire frown when, from under the sandbag, the dementor picked up two twelve-packs of ale, then a six-pack of London’s Pride.

“Don’t be so disappointed in me,” he smiled.

“Can you give one reason why he shouldn’t be?” a familiar voice asked from the fireplace.

“Moony!” Sirius sprang up, and ran to greet his werewolf friend. “Always a critic!”

“Somebody needs to have some common sense,” Remus replied. “New haircut?”

“Hair?” Sirius laughed, then showed his dog form. His fur was short-cut, shiny, his once-shaggy tail looked like an elegant black flag. “I had to stand motionless for over two hours, but it was worth it. Oh, and they have awesome treats!” He was still laughing after he returned to his human form. “And now I can be certain I neither have ticks nor fleas. But they criticized my teeth. They didn’t know I was overhearing them.”

“Happens. Did you send the dementor to do the shopping?” Lupin asked with perfectly solemn face.

“No, he just helped me pack out. Daire, could you please chill two bottles of London’s Pride for us?”

“I can’t beli… No, no, don’t come closer!”

Daire held out the bottle to the wizard. Remus, very careful not to touch the rotten-looking grey hand, accepted it.  “Sirius, you know my opinion about dementors…”

“He brought me food for almost twelve years, and I’m still alive,” Black grinned. “Thanks, Daire. Cheers!”

The two wizards clinked their bottles. Sirius drank his beer straight from the bottle, Remus went to look for a matching glass.

“Daire says he’s glad you care about me about as much as he does,” Sirius translated, somewhat reluctantly, while Lupin was in the kitchen.

“Tell him you have done the same for me during every full moon for years. And Sirius? That’s what friends are for.”

“Thank you. And I need to apologize on his behalf for what happened yesterday. He was prepared for the werewolf he already met, not for the son of Lyall Lupin. After you left, we talked a lot about family ties and divergences. For one, I would be very insulted if someone would judge me for any of my parents or grandparents or cousins.”

Remus returned with a jug, and filled it with beer.

“He doesn’t like dad, I take it? I should have figured. Thanks for the beer, Sirius. And… Thanks for cooling it, dementor. Guest.”

“He’s called Daire.”

“All right. Thank you for accepting me in your pet wizard’s company, Daire. Congratulations for keeping him out of trouble for over a decade, it must be a personal record for him.”

Daire breathed back a mixture of understanding and assent. Sirius didn’t feel like translating for him this time.

“Moony, would you accompany me to the Shrieking Shack?” he asked instead. “I need to talk to Peter, and it’s urgent.”

“How do you get out?”

Sirius pointed at the wall. “Through that muggle’s living-room. I want to be gone before the family comes home.”

Moony wasn’t even surprised. He knew that Sirius, once not held back by locked doors and the storms of an ocean, cannot stay put to save his life.

“Is the deme… Is Daire coming, too?” Remus asked while the host opened the wall again.

To both their surprise, Daire’s answer was negative. Then, with a longer breath, he elaborated: now that Remus Lupin was around, Sirius no longer needed his guard for company. He was a wizard who belonged to the wizarding world. Just like Daire belonged to Azkaban.

“So you’re leaving?” Sirius asked. “But… Okay. I’m not holding you back. But this is just a goodbye, right? Not a farewell.”

Daire replied that leaving the wizard was not the same as abandoning him, but they were both ready to move on, and Sirius didn’t need to get into more trouble for keeping a dementor in the building.

“All right. But you will come to my trial, won’t you? And Vaqqu, and Skipps. Tell them I’m grateful for everything. Hey! I bought some chocolate. Hand it out to whoever you want. So that I can give you something, indirectly.”

He placed a large box of sweets in his friend’s rotten-looking hands, and looked up to the hood. Daire breathed on him, one last statement of gratitude, then he vanished with the wind.

Remus cast the repairing spell on the wall behind them, and grabbed Sirius by the arm.

“We should go, too.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Sirius’s trial, please see the sixth chapter of Eyes and Nose of Azkaban. Thank you for your support!


End file.
